


i ache for you (i wish you ached for me)

by Imiaslavie



Series: I've waited so long for you (but if you ask I'll wait some more) [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (but kinda... temporarily?), Angst, Character Study, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pacifist route/Everyone lives, Reconciliation, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 06:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16131755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imiaslavie/pseuds/Imiaslavie
Summary: Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.Gavin's love is nothing like that.He envies and aches with a terrible vigor.





	i ache for you (i wish you ached for me)

**Author's Note:**

> So some weeks ago we were sharing headcanons with a bunch of guys, and I asked for some Hank/Gavin, and one person wrote this: _Connor shows up and in a very short time does for Hank everything that Gavin hasn't managed to do in years_. And this story flashed in front of my eyes, almost in its entirety. I knew I needed to write this. So I did.
> 
> Not beta-ed.

The thing is, Gavin doesn't hate Connor for being an all-capable detective. He doesn't detest him for his crime-solving rates. Sure, the professional jealousy is still there, nothing surprising about that, but it would be unethical and hypocritical to be angry about perps being locked up, families reunited, Detroit becoming safer. 

Gavin doesn't hate Connor. And yet he does. For a personal reason. 

Said reason currently sits behind his desk, burning his tongue on a freshly made coffee, the headphones wrapped around his neck blasting horrible sounds of his favorite band. Hank's fingers drum the rhythm of the song on the surface of his tablet. He looks sleepy — nothing unusual about that — but also he looks content, a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth. Considering it's not even 10AM, the precinct is currently witnessing a miracle.

Gavin hates Connor because he's the cause of this. And yet — he doesn't. Because it would be wrong and mar his feeling with something dirty. Because in all honesty — he is indefinitely grateful. 

The past three years have been a nightmare. It's been shaking with nerves each day Hank was supposed to get to work. It's been watching Hank slump at his desk, his hands clutching the papers so hard they would rip. It's been politely pretending not to notice the silent tears on Hank's face. It's been fighting his own tears, because the sight of the man once standing proud and facing life with a cocky smile on his face reduced to a weeping silent shadow was so heartbreaking it made Gavin hide in the station's bathroom, trying to control his emotions. 

Gavin has been trying so hard to help. He wasn't there for the funeral arrangements, he came to know of what's happened too late for that, but he was there _after_. Gavin asked Ben to take Hank in for a couple of weeks, not that Ben wasn't going to do that anyway. Gavin came to Hank's house and hid everything that might've directly reminded Hank of the kid. The house was filled with memories, of course, but toys and children books and drawings on the fridge would be too much. Gavin — with Fowler’s blessing — reassigned all the cases that Hank had between other officers. No one protested. Gavin made sure the fridge was stocked. It took him a month until Hank started eating on his own volition, not only when made to. When Hank started drinking, Gavin talked to the bartenders of the places Hank visited most, making them promise to hold out on heavy drinks after some point and to call him if Hank would need picking up. 

Gavin found out the name, the license plate and the security number of Hank's ex-wife, the bitch that left him to deal with all of that, and gave everything to some of his trusted friends on the police force that would subtly make her life worse. It was a petty gesture, but it made him feel a little bit better. 

Hank didn't talk for a month. And when he started to — it was pure venom. And all the understanding in Gavin's heart couldn't protect him from hurting after hearing the rude offensive things Hank would spit. But Gavin endured. Because Hank had been there for him for years, so kind and understanding, guiding and teaching, and it was the time to return the favor. Not because of some sort of obligation, but because he wanted to. 

When Hank returned to work a couple of months later, it was like Gavin had never happened. Like there hadn’t ever been the nights when Hank cried on his shoulder. Like there hadn’t ever been the times when Gavin brought him home from a bar and listened to the quiet _I miss him_ and _Why_ and _It's should've been me_ , muffled by sobs. Like they had never had breakfast together, Gavin reading him the news in an overly-enthusiastic voice. 

Like he had never felt the love Gavin had been trying to share with him. 

And it... it was fine. Gavin refused to be selfish about that. It wasn't about him. He hadn't done it for gratitude or a chance to get closer. He had done it to save the life of the person he loves. So if it made Hank's life easier to ignore him — that's fine. He ignored everyone else anyway. Just went around his business almost like nothing had ever happened, his face a mask, his eyes empty. So Gavin followed him around, did little things like coffee, and lunches, and short messages in the evening, reminding about the need to eat, and boxes with paper tissues, the softest he could find, for when Hank would cry his silent tears. 

And then Hank stole Gavin's case. 

Of course, _stealing_ was not the right word. What he did was barge onto the crime scene without invitation, give orders to the other officers who were far more afraid of arguing with the legendary Lieutenant than facing Reed's wrath later, and then — what's the worst of it — he had the audacity to close the case all by himself. Fowler didn't make a single sound about it. _It was connected to one of my cases anyway_ , said Hank to Gavin later. And that was it. 

Two-and-something years of being in the same boat erased by carelessly said words. All those messages, and calls, and countless other small but meaningful things — they were no more after that day. The only thing Gavin couldn't make himself stop doing was taking care of Hank's too drunk body.

Hank kept on grieving and drinking and destroying himself without anyone by his side. Gavin hid everything he felt and wanted deep inside, forbade himself from cari— No, from _showing_ that he cared. The only time he came close to breaking this rule was the night of October 11th, when his legs ached to get out and run to Hank's house. Gavin spent hours scared out of his mind until the noon of the next day when Hank dragged himself into the station looking like death. 

And then there was the android revolution. And then there was Connor. And then Hank started living again. A week. Just a mere fucking week — and Connor succeeded in reigniting Hank Anderson's desire to live. 

Gavin is not religious. He doesn't believe in God. But when he was very young, he stumbled upon the words from the Bible that stayed in his heart forever. 

_Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._

Gavin's love is nothing like that.

That's why he wants to scream at Hank and accuse him of leaving. That's why he wants to tell Connor about all the things Gavin used to do for Hank. That's why Gavin has never felt any remorse for making the life of that woman that left Hank miserable. That's why Gavin's hands itch for a fight. That's why Gavin remembers each time Hank antagonized him during the last year, remembers all the cases Hank took control of. 

Gavin envies and aches with a terrible vigor. 

There's a sound of a new message from his terminal. It's either Chen sending everyone stupid pics through the local chat or their pathologist finally dropping the results of the autopsy. Gavin doesn't care for either. 

_hey. i wanted to talk with you. when do u got time?' — Hank A._

Gavin closes and opens the dialogue window three times in a row, drags it around the desktop, closes again, opens again. The message stays the same. The name of the sender does too. Thin white letters stare in him mockingly. He lets his gaze slide towards Hank's desk. The man still drinks coffee, still half-smiles... But his hand doesn't tap to the rhythm of the song anymore. It's clenched tight into a fist. 

How has Hank managed to make his message sound both like he is a first-schooler and a hard-boiled asshole — Gavin will never know. Must be a talent. _Fuck_ this talent. 

He ignores the message. He ignores Hank whatsoever. Everything has already been said when the man pointed at him with a gun to protect the plastic boy he's known only for a day. A fucking day versus thirteen years. No, Gavin doesn't have anything to say to Hank Anderson. 

After lunch, Gavin oversees Tina questioning a guy who has supposedly killed his girlfriend. She gets some useful info from him but doesn't think he is guilty. Gavin agrees with the assessment. He watches Tina gently squeeze the guy's shoulder. She is a kind woman. And she will get to the bottom of this like she always does. 

While Gavin gathers their tablets and pens from the table, the door opens and then swings shut. The electronic lock pips shortly. 

“It's not polite to ignore messages, you know. Especially when the sender is sitting right opposite of you.” 

Gavin quickly turns around, dropping everything back on the table. The lock shines bright red — a lockdown. “You want to talk to me about _politeness_? Fuck off.” Gavin slides past Hank, reaching for the lock's panel. He swipes his card... which doesn't work. He turns to look at the man. 

Hank's eyes are sad. 

The silence stretches between them for some time. Gavin's hands curl into fists. His patience runs thin very fast, venomous words ready to leave his tongue— 

“Do you know,” Hank says, his voice flat and quiet, having lost that teasing tone, “when was the first time I laughed after what happened?” 

Gavin's breath stills. This is... nothing at all like he expected to... What the... 

“I don't. And I don't care.” 

_Liar, liar._

“Do you remember the Campbell's case? This spring?” 

Now Gavin is definitely one step away from throwing the first punch. Does Gavin fucking remember the case that was stolen from him. The humiliation and the way it hurt and how he spent the last two weeks of April going through the seedy bars, looking for fights and quick fucks in bathroom stalls, enjoying neither. Does he remember indeed. 

“Jeff put me on a short paid leave after that case. When I came back, you weren't there, and I had to do a double shift. I had one of the shitty nights back then. I cried. Not much,” he pauses, definitely for a dramatic reason rather than being out of breath, “I grabbed a paper tissue. From the box that I knew you left for me. And it was the cheapest scratchiest piece of shit paper tissue I've ever used.” Gavin stills completely. “Everything around my eyes hurt like a _bitch_." Hank chuckles and cocks his head a bit, his gaze going so soft that Gavin has to fight the urge to turn away. “And then I laughed. So long and hard my throat went dry and there were tears in my eyes again. This was so incredibly _petty_ of you to give me those awful tissues instead of nice soft ones you used to, such a perfect passive-aggressive _fuck you_... And I deserved it, I knew I treated you like shit, and you managed to show me you care for me and hate me with one small gesture.” He sighs. “This was the first time I felt somewhat alive.”

Gavin will not buy any of that. No. He refuses. 

“I said I don't care,” he grits through his teeth. He doesn't want to talk anymore. But there is one thing he _has_ to correct. “And I _didn't_ hate you back then. And I don't hate you now. But also I don't care, so let me the fuck out of here!” 

Gavin's right hand darts for the breast pocket on Hank's jacket, where the man keeps his card. Hank easily intercepts him by grabbing his wrist. Gavin tries to tug it free and goes for the pocket with his left hand — which ends up being caught too. They fight and struggle, and Gavin hates how he is giving his everything into the attempts to get free and Hank is barely doing anything, strong and unmovable. Gavin snarls and gives a forceful push, trying to get the man off the balance. And suddenly — Gavin's wrists are free, and he's so shocked that he doesn't realise until the last seconds that Hank's hands come to tightly grip Gavin's face. Tightly, but not painfully. 

“Let go of—”

“I'm alive because of _you_ ,” Hank says in a hurried whisper. “You hear me? Right now, right here, I stand in front of you not because I met Connor, but because—“ 

“Oh, don't fucking lie to me!” Gavin screams right into his face. Now it's his hands that come to circle Hank's wrists. “I've spent two years trying to help you, and I failed! And then that plastic toy walked in, and he did it in a week!” 

“You haven't fucking failed anything!” Hank's voice rises too. “If you haven't been there for me, there wouldn't be anything for Connor to do because I would be fucking _dead!_ ” 

Gavin's blunt nails keep scratching against Hank's skin. _No, you wouldn't be_ , he wants to say. _You are too strong for it. And who the hell gave you the right to read me so easily, how the hell did you even know what think about Connor, God, androids are really gonna replace us all—_

Hank's grip tightens just a fraction. “For months, all I could think about some android's hands covered in my son's blood. I got fixated on it. I forgot about the damn human surgeon who didn't show up. All I saw before my eyes was plastic, plastic and blood. And being around Connor, being with him in this mess, seeing androids showing humanity, seeing humans _not_ showing it... I learned that androids aren't evil. Then Connor almost sacrificed the whole fucking revolution for me, and it finally _clicked_. Somewhere in that stupid head of mine something snapped, and I let my hatred go.” 

Gavin so, so doesn't want to hear about this, not about the horrors that filled Hank's mind, not about how Connor's accomplished everything just by being his stupid plastic self—

Angry tears gather at the corners of his eyes. He is so fucking pathetic, standing here so passive and voiceless, listening to the praises about someone who stole everything from him. 

“Gavin, listen to me,” Hank says, “I'm sorry for— I said fucking _listen_ , you brat!” Hank barks when Gavin tries to back away. He almost succeeds, but Hank follows him, and then Gavin's back hits the wall, and he's trapped. “I'm sorry for how I treated you. And I've never said thank you for all you've done, and I'm sorry for that too. You. Saved. My. Life. When I wanted to starve to death — I ate for you. I've never answered those messages, but I've read all of them and waited for them. I came late for work, but I came in the first place because you and everyone were waiting for me. You didn't... you didn't let me go somewhere I couldn't return from. You haven't failed me. Not once.” 

Gavin isn't going to cry, Gavin isn't going to cry, Gavin isn't going to— 

“Aw, shite... C'mere.” And the next second Gavin's face is buried in the crook of Hank's neck, the skin smelling faintly of sweat, and Hank's arms are around Gavin's shoulders. “I'm sorry,” he repeats. “I really am.”

Gavin takes a shaky breath, and suddenly a short laugh escapes him, just as shaky, weird and gurgling, but a laugh. “Didn't fucking know you can do speeches. Jeez.” 

“I didn't know I can even _talk_ for that long.” 

Gavin chuckles. The tension gradually leaves his fingers. “You could. Before.” 

Hank chuckles too, hot air washing over the side of Gavin's head. “Pep talks for rookies aren’t... _this_.” 

_This_. Baring his heart. Being sincere. Admitting his mistakes. Reconciling. Caring, caring, caring about Gavin, finally, after the years of ignoring. 

Gavin wraps his arms around Hank. It's the first time they touched since... God, since the last time Gavin dragged his drunken body from the bar, listening to the string of profanities that became whispers and sobs as soon as they entered Hank's house. That was forever ago. And it wasn't anything like this. 

Gavin doesn't completely believe what has happened yet. There's still _hurt_ in him, and anger, and bitterness, but he's so fucking tired and he just wants to _try_. 

“What next?” he says. Because he has no idea. He hopes Hank does. 

There's a long pause. “I don't know how to say it without sounding like a damn teenager, but... I was hoping we could be friends. Forget about me being your SO and other stupid things like that and just... yeah, friends.” Hank pauses yet again. “At least I hope we can be civil. Don't know about you,” _liar_ , “but I'm really tired of us being shit to each other.” 

Gavin's heart clenches in a phantom pain. It's not like he ever hoped they... No, gods, he did, he hoped and dreamt and wished, and his feelings haven't changed, not even a little, and he's still that stupid boy that fell head over hills for his senior officer, and he's still that pathetic man that loved without questions and getting anything in return... 

“Yeah. Friends. Sounds, uh...” he clears his throat. “Sounds good.” It's okay. It will be much more than he had just an hour ago. It's good. 

Gavin arms tighten around Hank as if finalizing the talk, and he lets go, leaning back. Except that Hank doesn't let go... He... Takes a deep breath and... 

“Listen. I... I'm still shit at... feeling things. I'm learning this and that of being _normal_ all over again. But... I care about you. I really do. A lot. And, uh...” Hank's speech is hasty and uncertain, and Gavin still has no idea what is going on. “We’ll play it by ear, okay? I don't know, I'm not— I _do_ care.” It can't be what Gavin thinks it is. It's ridiculous. “I can't promise anything. But... let's just wait and.... see how it goes? Okay?”

This can't be what Gavin thinks it is. Not in a million years. Forget it. He puts on his best _Okay, agreed, we're perfectly fine_ smile and tilts his head to look Hank in his eyes, and— 

Hank's face is red. His gaze is wandering around. He doesn't look at Gavin at all. His lips are thinned and his mouth is crooked and— 

Holy. Fuck. 

Gavin's heart _soars_. 

He says, “Okay,” and nothing more. He takes Hank's card, swipes it down the lock and enters the override code. The lock beeps, and the door opens. The lights hurt his eyes when he steps out, and Gavin quickly wipes them with a sleeve of his shirt. He looks right, then left — and catches the sight of Connor standing near the entrance to the break room with such a machine-like expression that Gavin doesn't doubt for a second that he's trying his hardest to _feign_ indifference. And speaking of which... 

“And Hank?” he says. “Don't even fucking _try_ to set me on play-dates with your plastic.” 

Hank chuckles. 

Gavin groans. 

He hates Connor. 

And yet... he doesn't. 

Not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> When I started to properly think this story through, I agonized over the ending. The thing is, I don't read and I don't write about unrequited love. It's not for me. And the other thing is — I couldn't see Hank in love with Gavin. So — I agonized. I went through an existential crisis and two epiphanies. And then I realized something. And that's why this work is a part of the series from the beginning. Because their story isn't finished, I have more to say, Hank has more to say and more to do, more to realize, to learn. Hank needs time, and then, maybe, just like he promised, he and Gavin can have something more than a friendship. And Gavin, he... there's a lot for him to deal with to, to process, to readjust. They talk they had fixed some things, but not all of them.
> 
> All in all, this work was a new experience for me, since I rarely write angst at all (not as the main theme anyway) and have never written such a... thick stream of heavy thoughts. But I've wanted to make Gavin hurt like that for some time (actually, I've wanted to hurt him much, _much_ more, but that's a thing for another AUs). Gavin, sweetness, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you in my next reed900 (coming soon!)


End file.
